The young woman sat on the floor, pressing white gauze to his wound. She glanced up. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Fuller shifted on the floor, using his hands to brace himself. “Did Bill call Air Traffic Control about making an emergency landing?”
Mickey’s tongue swiped across her dry lips. “Bill’s unconscious, but Air Traffic Control has been notified. An FBI agent is flying the plane right now, and he needs you to tell him how to land it.”
The color on Fuller’s cheeks instantly faded. He pushed up on his hands and collapsed on the floor as air wheezed from his clenched mouth.
“He really should stay down,” the med student said.
“Then we’ll all die in a damn plane crash. Not on my watch.” His eyes met Mickey’s. “Help me up.”
Mickey pushed past the two women and bent down low. She grabbed the captain’s arm, hooked it around her neck, and a howl of pain split the air. “Allison, keep your hand on his side while we walk him in.”
They stepped out of the bathroom and into the flight deck. “Get the hell out of my seat, son.”
The agent looked back, humor and appreciation softening the hard lines around his eyes. “Are you up for this?”
“I’ve been through worse.”
The man nodded and stood from the chair. Mickey helped Fuller hobble to the seat, and then lowered him down. She grabbed Allison’s hand and placed it over Fuller’s wound. “I’m going to let everyone know we’re preparing to land. Keep pressure on the wound and don’t move your hand.”
The heat of those gray eyes followed her out of the cockpit. She shook it off and stepped up to the intercom once more. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be making an emergency landing in Atlanta. Please buckle your seatbelts and prepare for landing.”
Walking up the aisle, she tried to right the cabin as much as possible while the plane descended. Her muscles throbbed with tension, but she pressed on. Outside the window, white, fluffy clouds appeared, and then disappeared. Terrified passengers hurled questions at her with every step, but she fixed a tight smile on her face and continued replacing luggage in overhead bins. The last thing she needed was for a piece of luggage to fall from the storage compartment and knock someone unconscious. The nightmare was almost over and then she could fall apart. But not until dirt sat beneath her feet.
When the outline of the city replaced the clouds in the windows, she walked to the back of the plane and took a seat next to Vanessa, the newest member of the flight crew. Vanessa reached over, took her hand, and squeezed it when the wheels touched down on the pavement and they taxied to a completestop. Flashing red lights and screaming sirens announced the arrival of emergency vehicles. Applause filled the cabin as the door opened, and the FBI agent stepped out of the cockpit with the man in beige cuffed in front of him.
This man had saved them all, and she didn’t even know his name. He led the hijacker to the door, but stopped suddenly and stared down the long aisle of the plane until their eyes locked. Mickey sucked in a breath and her heart jumped into her throat. He gave her a curt nod and then stepped out of the plane. Pride battled against the terror that had taken up residence in her bones. She’d been scared out of her mind, but she’d helped save the lives of everyone on board. The FBI agent, whoever he was, had acknowledged that with that one tiny gesture.
Her muscles went lax and she melted against the seat. She might have helped save the day, but she was going to need a very large drink soon.
2
Sucking in a mouthful of humid air, Graham forced himself to swallow and pushed down the anxiety churning up his throat. Telling a mother a suspected sex-trafficker took her child never got easier. He loved his job at the bureau, but not this part…never this part. He’d much rather be back in Mexico chasing down suspects. But that wasn’t an option right now. Especially since Sanchez had figured out who he was and hightailed it onto that stupid plane back to Chicago. Graham might have gotten the information he needed from Sanchez once he’d thrown him in a cell, but it hadn’t been in time to stop Pete Bogart from taking one more girl. And a plane full of innocent people almost died because of his screw-up.
He turned toward his partner and nodded. Eric pressed the button for the intercom on the side of the apartment building and Graham waited for the moment he would bring a nightmare to a stranger’s doorstep. Becca Stanley’s family had no idea the hell they were in for.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Stanley?” Eric’s voice boomed from his large form, but a hint of compassion softened his delivery.
“Yes?”
“My partner and I are here to speak with you about your daughter’s disappearance. We’re with the FBI. Can we come up?”
No more words crackled through the speaker, but a softbuzzvibrated against the metal lock on the door. Graham opened the door and they hustled up three flights of stairs to the apartment Becca lived in with her mother. Images of young Becca Stanley flashed through his mind. Her curly blond hair and crystal blue eyes made her appear more like an angel than a child. Her cherub cheeks and heart-shaped mouth were the picture of innocence. He fisted his hands as a desire to beat the man who took her to a fucking pulp surged through him.
He’d failed Becca, and all of the other girls Pete Bogart had taken. He hadn’t gotten the information he’d needed from Sanchez until it was much too late. Too late to keep Pete from taking more girls, but not too late to save their lives. He’d only gotten the name of the man responsible for planting a sex ring in Chicago from Sanchez the day before and hadn’t had much time to get more information on the bastard. But now he had a name, and with the help of Suzi Stanley, he’d bust the sonofabitch if it was the last thing he did.
“You want to ask the questions?” Eric asked outside the closed apartment door.
Graham nodded and readjusted the file clenched in his fist.
Eric gave one curt nod and knocked on the door. A woman with eyes the same color as Becca’s opened the door. Dark circles hung low under those blue eyes and tears streaked down her cheeks. She leaned against the side of the door and gazed at them with a far-off stare that suggested she’d taken something to dim her pain.
“Hi, Ms. Stanley. I’m Special Agent Graham Grassi and this is my partner, Special Agent Eric Short. We need to ask you some questions about Becca.”
“Of course. Come in.” She stumbled backward and Graham reached out to steady her. Ms. Stanley placed a hand over her heart and closed her eyes for a beat. For a second, Graham feared she wouldn’t open them back up. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t… It’s just…” Sobs interrupted her words and Graham led her to the sofa in the living room.
